


Sorry's Not Enough (Except When It Is)

by Kestrealbird



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Diarmuid being affectionate, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, boyfriends being soft, but DiarCú is everything to me so, getting closure is important, secretly dating? kinda?, this is mostly about Medb and Cú tbh, this went in an entirely different direction to what I planned but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: They've never really talked about it, what happened between them. He knows that they should
Relationships: Cù Chulainn | Lancer & Medb | Rider, Cú Chulainn | Lancer/Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Sorry's Not Enough (Except When It Is)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen man I could not tell you where this came from I just churned it out in one go, got surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, and then just rolled with it. So here we are

Medb calls him on a Tuesday morning when he’s in the middle of getting dressed - because her timing is truly impeccable - and Diarmuid is watching some movie or another in the front room, the TV turned down just low enough that it wouldn’t disturb Cú’s rest. He’s been working a lot of long nights lately - hasn’t really been getting a whole lot of sleep, so it’s sweet of Diarmuid to try and leave him in bed now that he has a day off. 

He’d woken up while Diarmuid was showering, too lazy to get out of bed, but not lazy enough to stop himself sulking under the covers because he wasn’t being _cuddled_ anymore. His love - his sarcastic, witty, icy love - hadn’t been all that surprised to find him awake, but he’d thrown a scathing look anyway and batted away Cú’s hands when he’d tried to reach out for him. “You don’t love me enough,” he’d sullenly muttered to which Diarmuid had simply rolled his eyes and left to put the TV on.

Whatever it is that’s on, it’s clearly something that’s piqued his interest, because there’s no smell of food or sounds of him moving things around so he can sweep the floors. They have a hoover but it’s never been used - Diarmuid cleans so often it’s hardly needed, even with M’Akolly’s shedding. The movie he’s watching must be something animated or about animals - possibly both. 

He refuses to watch anything made by Disney, “on principle,” he says though it’s actually because he knows it drives Fergus up the fucking wall, so that gets rid of a good chunk of movies that Cú actually recognizes.

Medb’s still ringing, Cú can see her name flashing up on his phone, and he contemplates the pros and cons - mostly the cons - of just cutting her off and pretending he’d dropped his phone off the balcony in his haste to answer. He’d never get away with it; Medb is a lot of things - mostly a colossal _bitch_ \- but she’s not _stupid_ and _he’s_ not the best liar she’s ever dealt with. 

He slips on a shirt and it’s tighter than usual so it must be one of Diarmuid’s, not that it matters now that they live together, and answers the phone with a sigh loud enough for Medb to hear. She doesn't, which annoys him greatly, because she’s talking to somebody else over her shoulder and he manages to make out a litany of, “ - no not that one - the other one - yes that one - don’t twist it like that - look just give it here - god you’re so useless -” there’s a loud pop and suddenly, much louder, directly into the phone - “merigold or honey?”

“...what?”

“Merigold or honey for an autumn dress, Cú, come on keep up!”

“I - hold on a second -” he presses the mute button on his phone and calls out, “marmalade or honey for an autumn dress, acushla?”

A beat of silence, probably while Diarmuid figures out if Cú has finally gone completely crazy or not, and then, “honey!” because Diarmuid is nothing if not predictable.

There’s an accusatory hum from Medb’s end of the phone, and he thinks, _shit, it wasn’t the mute button._ “Do you...have someone there with you right now?”

The TV has also gone silent and Diarmuid appears back into the room, wearing a leather jacket that most definitely isn’t his own - and definitely does _not_ distract Cú in any way whatsoever - and glances pointedly at the phone, now on loud speaker.

“Honey,” he relays back to Medb and hopes she doesn’t ask anymore questions. It’d be so easy to just cut the phone off, let future Cú deal with this, maybe get a new name and uproot himself entirely, but Diarmuid had scolded him for being rude like that before and then pointedly refused to hug him at all for the rest of the day, so he doesn’t, because no hugs is just absolute _torture._

There’s a bark of laughter down the phone. Fergus’ laughter, which is more information about Medb’s personal life than Cú is entirely comfortable knowing. He misses them both terribly, not that he’ll ever say it to them, but they live in America now, in a big city that Cú has only ever seen pictures of. He thinks it might be fun to visit one day - to waltz into Medb’s business in the ugliest clothes he can find just to watch her receptionist faint from shock - to explore the food and the streets and the culture and atmosphere. 

But that would mean leaving Diarmuid behind. He doesn't like big cities - too loud, too busy, too claustrophobic - and Cú doesn’t think he’s ready to get over the honeymoon phase quite yet. Diarmuid sidles up to his side, hooks their arms together, hand curled around his wrist to feel the pulse there, thumb stroking over the veins. Cú feels his breath catch and really hopes that Medb didn’t -

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, her voice entirely too low, too knowing, too amused beyond measure. “I can call back if you’re...pre-occupied.” 

Diarmuid stifles a noise like laughter into his neck and he scowls down at the phone. His wrist is let go in favour of his hand, and he tries to be annoyed about it - about how distracting it is, but he can’t, because it’s sweet and he’s a romantic at heart so he leans into it instead, squeezing Diarmuid’s hand instead of bringing it to his lips for a kiss. The effect is still the same, Diarmuid’s face getting warmer against his neck. 

“No, no I just - just woke up actually.”

“Are you naked?” There’s a thrill in her voice, less at the thought of him being naked and more at the possibility of what he was doing to _be_ naked and how she can tease him about it in future. 

Diarmuid squeezes his hand ( _do you love her?_ ), harder than he probably intended. He _knows_ that Medb is teasing but he still remembers that brief time where she had an obsession with monstrosity; they’ve never really talked about it. They’ll have to, at some point, but not now. C ú lets himself lift their linked hands this time, lips brushing the back of Diarmuid’s knuckles ( _no, never_ ). A huff against his neck, and the grip on his hand loosens ( _okay, okay. That’s good_ ). 

“It wasn’t that kind of night,” he says to Medb and can almost _feel_ the disappointment radiating off of her. “We just, you know, cuddled a little.” A lot actually but she doesn’t need to know that. He still hasn’t decided if he should tell her he’s dating Diarmuid at all or leave her to find out for herself. Their relationship is - complicated, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive her for what she did to him, even if he understands the reasons behind it. 

He also doesn’t know how comfortable Diarmuid would be about it, given that history, even though he’s closer to Medb than Cú is. Maybe he’s waiting for Cú to make that choice for himself or maybe, like Cú, he’s trying to avoid it entirely. They haven’t talked about it. They should. They won’t. Not yet at least. 

(Not ever, if he’s being honest with himself. Diarmuid’s not going to bring it up and Cú would much rather let Medb draw her own conclusions instead of spelling it out for her.)

When Medb talks next, her voice is quieter, softer. “Cuddling, huh. You must be pretty serious about it then.”

Cú laughs, a little bit breathless, a whole lot relieved. She doesn’t sound angry. If anything she sounds... _pleased._ “Yeah,” he says, “yeah just a little.”

“Only a little?” Diarmuid murmurs into his neck, quiet enough that Medb can’t hear, a smile in his voice.

“Shut up,” he says, fond and exasperated. 

“Mystery lover in the room with you?” She’s laughing at him, he can hear it, and she doesn’t give him a chance to reply before, “I’m happy to hear that. I mean -” she stumbles, clears her throat, “ - we’ve never, like, talked about - about what happened or anything but, um, ya know, it’s - it happened so, er.”

Diarmuid moves, reaching out to the phone, a low noise like he wants to comfort her. Cú might’ve been jealous about that, in the early days, before he’d known better. Diarmuid’s just like this with all of his friends; hates seeing them - _hearing_ them - in any kind of distress or sadness, especially when he knows he can’t help. He doesn’t do much else but hold it and Cú lets him, releasing his other hand so he can put his arm around Diarmuid’s waist instead, holding him even closer, more for himself than anything.

“It’s okay.” He chokes a bit, the wound still sore.

An annoyed sound filters down the phone and then, awkward and mumbled, he hears, “I’m sorry. For what I did to you.”

He has to let go of the phone - thank god Diarmuid’s still holding it - and close his eyes against the emotions leaking out of them, turning to hide himself in Diarmuid’s back instead. Diarmuid says nothing, just reaches up to scratch claws through his hair. He’d never expected a verbal apology before; Medb’s not the type for it, not anymore, and he bites his lip to stifle a sob.

“I’m sorry” shouldn’t be enough, not after everything - it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, but it is and it hurts but the hurt is good - feels natural, feels like release, feels like he’s been waiting for this for a decade, maybe more.

She says, “I have to go there’s - there’s things to do, business to take care of,” and she’s running, he _knows_ she’s running, the conversation too suddenly emotional for either of them to take because it’s too damn early for this bullshit, and he nods against Diarmuid’s shoulder even though Medb can’t see him and the phone cuts off and he hears it hit the bed and feels Diarmuid’s skin go colder.

The chill helps. It always helps. A little bit of shock therapy to stop him spiralling. He soaks up as much of it as he can with their clothing in the way, slipping his hands under the jacket and shirt to lay them on Diarmuid’s stomach, feels the muscles jump, and he files that away for later, because even when he’s crying he’s an opportunist.

Diarmuid moves them, tugging on his arms to free himself. Cú lets go, not because he wants to, and Diarmuid, so, so softly, says, “come on. I need to show you something.”

“Is that why you came in here?”

“Mostly.” He smirks, cheeky. “Was also checking to make sure you didn’t have a head injury.”

“Oh, what, Fionn and Achilles can like dresses but I can’t?”

“You like them more on other people.”

Which. Is true, yeah, he can’t deny that but _still._ “I’d look amazing in a dress.”

“Of course you would,” Diarmuid replies dryly and then shoves him onto the sofa before he can complain further.

The movie he was watching has been paused. Cú can see that it’s animated, and the backgrounds are - oh. That’s Ireland. He’d recognize it anywhere, the hills and the grass and the trees and the colours. Diarmuid sits down next to him, head on his shoulder, feet tucked beneath him. “What’s it about?”

“A selkie. But that’s not what I’m showing you.” He rewinds the film by about a minute, pointing to the dog. “It’s you,” he says, much to Cù’s confusion, and then presses play and - 

It startles a laugh out of him when he hears it. The dog is a shaggy excitable thing and the boy calls it - Diarmuid looks too damn fucking pleased with himself, and Cù’s laughing himself to tears, and he says, “that's such - that's such an obvious fucking name. It’s so stupid, it’s so dumb, who calls their dog ‘Cù’ anyway, what the fuck.” 

He loves the stupid dog immediately, of course he does, how could he not, and forces Diarmuid to go back to the beginning of the film (“ _Nnnnn,_ that means I have to find the other channel.” “What an inconvenience for you.”) and watches the entire thing. It’s a good movie. The closest he’s been to home - to Ireland - in a very long time. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, as the credits are rolling and Diarmuid’s humming to the music. There’s no answer, just softly spoken lyrics. He’ll call Medb tomorrow - have a proper conversation about everything, because it’s something they both need, something they’ve both been avoiding, and Diarmuid will stay with him, holding him tight enough to bruise a human but not tight enough to hurt him, and then they can watch another movie, or just fall asleep. It’ll be enough. It always is.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this rushed? Yeah probably but sometimes you just gotta get something out there. Also the film they're watching is Song of The Sea and yes the dog really is called Cú which is really fucking funny when you know that Cú just means "hound"


End file.
